


Cornerstone

by Blue_Thallium (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: I forgot to post this here it's been on my tumblr for like a month, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 10:30:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Blue_Thallium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napalmarts wanted some Dad/Dave with John getting the short end of things for once, so here we go</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cornerstone

Dave knew they were on to something when Dad had asked Dave to call him by his first name.

Everyone else got harangued into calling him Dad, but Dave got to use Jim. James, sometimes, if he was in trouble.

He liked it. It made him feel… Kind of special, he supposed.

He’d never forget the look on John’s face the first time he got overheard first naming him. It was a look John reserved for the faint smell of cake, or movie recommendations from Dave.

Dave had played it off as a joke. It was just something the two of them had started doing, because Dave had made a snarky comment about the fact that everyone called him Dad. Dave bet they even called him Dad at work, Dave bet he didn’t even have a first name. That was all. It was just a joke.

John swallowed it, reluctantly. Dave was glad, felt a little safer flirting with the old man now he had kind of a cover. They were just making friends. A few pouty comments about how Bro had never been as good to him as John’s Dad was, and John even began to guiltily encourage a friendship between them.

Maybe he felt a little bad about lying. Maybe. But it all seemed worth it when John would deliberately make himself scarce so Dave could have a little surrogate father son time.

Dave liked to bake. Or at least he made like he liked to. He was happy to learn, he understood Jim rarely actually baked from scratch and smirked to himself because they always made fresh stuff when Dave was there. He made up some spiel about maybe wanting to be a baker, and Jim had insisted on giving him lessons.

Just like with the name thing, it made him feel kind of special. Maybe Jim was just that kind of person, someone who made people feel like they mattered. But then, people weren’t getting nickname privileges and private cooking lessons. People weren’t getting little glances, private smiles and hands brushing together over balls of dough.

Dave was special. Dave had decided he was, he had to be. It was just making his move now.

It was gradual. More and more often, John had to go out to the movies when Dave came over. Sometimes John’d get a bit disappointed when he realised Dave was over at the house for his Dad and not him, but Dave’d make it up to him one day.

Then it was just doing stupid little things, offering to help Jim tie his apron strings because he could never do it right by himself. Standing a little too close when they were working, asking any questions he could think to ask.

"So what’s the deal with yeast?" was question of the day today. Jim had just set the dough to rest, and was now giving Dave a look. It was a good look though. Like he thought Dave was terribly sweet to ask such a question.

"It’s a fungus."

"Fungus, huh?" Dave thought for a moment. “You gotta wonder about the first dude to decide to put like… Fucking mould into bread."

Jim had stopped badgering him about his foul language at about the same time he’d started asking Dave to use his first name. He smiled at Dave, and scratched absently at his five o’clock shadow. Jim had to shave every day.

"I’d never thought of it that way before," he said, smiling.

"You got flour on your face, dude," said Dave. He placed his hand flat against Jim’s face, rubbed a thumb across his cheekbone.

"I think we both know there’s nothing on my face, Dave."

Dave gave a little shrug, a tentative smile, fought a fully fledged grin when Jim’s hand came to meet his. He laughed, suddenly.

"What?"

"I just… I always thought you had a thing for John. He’d be far more… age appropriate."

"Man, I don’t even know who or what a John is right now."

Dave was almost disappointed at how little resistance he received, but smiled into a kiss when Jim’s lips meet his. Firm and warm, not too wet, Dave sighed and went stiff against the kitchen counter.

He smelt half of cologne and half of dough, and Dave smirked to himself when he realised Jim had put on cologne just to bake with him. Jim’s hands, rough and dry with dough, moved down to his sides, slipped under his t-shirt and felt the line of his waist. His thumbs rubbed over the tips of Dave’s hip bones, hands slipped into the back pockets of Dave’s jeans and he pulled their hips together.

"I have a fold out couch in my study," said Jim. He mumbled it against Dave’s lips, kiss hardly broken. He tasted like Tictacs, suspiciously like Tictacs.

"Lead the way," Dave said. He tried to sound cool, but then Jim strode down the hall, and Dave found himself trotting behind like a puppy, tripping to kick his shoes off in the hall.

He wondered if it would be presumptuous to take off his shirt, but removed it any way, leaving it in the middle of the dark narrow hall, which lead to Jim’s study and a small bathroom. 

The study itself was a small room, ceiling sloped as it was directly beneath the stairs. 

Jim was slinging his tie over his work chair when Dave sauntered in topless, Jim’s dark hands immediately crawling over Dave’s chest, resting on his shoulders.

He was awkward for the first time then, smile tight and uncomfortable, till Dave started on the buttons of his shirt and kicked the door shut.

"You’re sure about this?"

"Duh. This was the plan all along, Egbert," said Dave. He tried to sound confident, but his voice shook. He swallowed as he skimmed his knuckles over a patch of chest hair and left the shirt half buttoned. Dave went for the belt. “I never wanted to be a baker."

It was suppose to sound smug, but it came out more as a confession than anything, and Dave just wanted them to go back to making out so he didn’t have to hear himself talk any more. His hands shrank away from Jim’s belt.

"I gathered that from the fact you hadn’t even made a cupcake before." Dave gave Jim a look, tried to communicate an apology with a nervous, half smile. “You’re lucky I enjoy your company."

Jim told him to go to the couch, and Dave sat there, legs open, watching Jim unbutton his shirt the rest of the way. He was a deceptively small man, he was tall and broad shouldered, but rather thin, as if he didn’t eat quite enough. The whole capslocks SUPER DAD persona had Dave convinced he was two inches taller than he was and that he’d be ripped under those big, neat shirts. But Jim was pretty average.

Dave felt strange. His crush was suddenly all… humanised. Unattainable-John’s-Hot-Dad (who he’d schemed to bone for months for the sake of boning him) vanished into Regular-Dude-Jim, this lanky guy who liked baking, who Dave really genuinely liked and who genuinely liked Dave, and they were going to have some kind of sex now because that’s what two regular people do when they really like each other.

Dave’s heart thudded in his mouth. This had become so distinctly un-illicit that Dave knew he had to totally be himself and wow wasn’t that the worst thing he could possibly realise like three seconds before having some kind of sex. 

Jim was soon on his knees on plushly carpeted floor, dragging denim down over Dave’s thighs, and gently mouthing at the cottony lump in Dave’s underwear. Jim stopped, hooked his fingers into the waistband, and looked up at Dave. His face was pink and he pursed his lips.

"Um. It’s been a pretty long time since I did this, uh," he cleared his throat, “Probably about fifteen years or something ridiculous like that, so bear with me."

"Hey man, I mean. Even if you are rusty like. Is there even such a thing as a bad blow job?" Dave said, nervously. He went to put his hand on Jim’s face then… didn’t because.

What do you even do with your hands at a time like this.

Jim smiled, and took Dave’s dick out of his boxer’s, not even flinching or looking nervous like he took dicks out of their pants every day. He did have his own dick but. Yeah.

He apologised, before spitting in his palm and starting to work Dave’s half hard dick to life.

"It’s probably a bad idea to launch into bad blow job anecdotes right now, but Gosh, I used to date this boy, and this must have been in… ‘87? Maybe ‘86. Any way, he had braces, and he used to drag his damn teeth all the time, it was less like oral sex more like he was trying to… peel a carrot with his teeth or something." Dave just nodded, gave kind of an awkward chuckle.

Because it was a funny story but there was a hot dude touching his junk, and Dave didn’t even know if it was appropriate to laugh pre-blowjob.

"Sorry, I talk when I’m nervous," said Jim. He laughed at himself.

At least Dave hoped he was laughing at himself.

"Me too. It’s. Really bad," Dave spluttered. “Not this though, the hand thing, that’s good."

"There’s more good… things where that came fr…" Jim kind of petered out mid sentence, shook his head. “I’m just going to stop talking." 

He licked his lips and rolled them over his teeth, nudging Dave’s foreskin down with his thumb before taking Dave’s cock into his mouth.

So maybe he was kind of surprisingly awkward (Dave had been fantasizing about the mild mannered suburban Don Juan and had gotten… well, an actual person) but credit where credit was due, he was doing really well considering he hadn’t given a blow job in like forever.

Dave felt him struggling to suck and move his tongue at the same time, but appreciated the effort, grunting a quiet stream of swears and kind of… Patting? Jim on the head because he didn’t want to end up grabbing or pulling his hair, and he didn’t want to just pet him because that would have been weird, wouldn’t it?

Either way Jim ended up grabbing his hand and lacing their fingers together. With his free hand he dug little nail marks into Dave’s thigh, still sucking and occasionally slurping, wincing when he did.

He took more of Dave, relaxing, and Dave felt comfortable enough to start rocking his hips, just a little. Jim didn't protest, sucked harder, if anything, and moaned this tiny moan that sent a bolt through Dave’s cock and up his spine. 

Dave could hear himself breathing heavily through clenched teeth, and the had that had been placed uncomfortably on the sofa fisting Jim’s hair. That actually seemed to spur him on, and Dave shuddered. He tried pulling a little, forcing his head down and Jim coughed, sucked harder then gave in, finally pulled back, red lipped and spluttering.

"Sorry," he said roughly, trying to catch his breath “Never could do the deep-throating thing." 

"It’s fine, I’m. Yeah, fine just," Dave mumbled half to himself, and wrapped his hand around his cock. He was closer than he’d been.

"Hey, quit it hang on." Jim coughed a few more times and swatted at Dave’s wrist, before telling him he should take his pants off properly. “And could you lose the shades too?"

Dave did as he was told - not one to argue in a situation like this - and wriggled out of his pants. They had been bunched up at his knees and Dave was kind of glad to be rid of them, even if it mean he was sitting in the Egbert’s study in nothing but a pair of mismatched socks.

Him and John used to play Zoombinis in this room, before John got his own computer.

The memory made him cringe so much he almost didn’t notice Jim was stood in front of him, apparently deliberating whether or not to remove his boxers, which looked like they were made of some expensive material and had this really intimidating bulge in them Dave was half pretending he hadn’t noticed, half about to jerk off over.

"Take ‘em off, buddy, gotta play fair and shit, even playing field you know?" Dave rambled.

"Just give me a moment to mentally prepare myself, it’s really bright in here, and you’re so," Jim made a vague hand gesture and a noise, “And I’m so old and," another hand gesture, this time coupled with a stupid face. “Maybe you should put your shades back on."

Dave sighed and felt bold. He would not be left hanging. He pulled Jim down into his lap by the waistband of his underwear, and tugged them down at the same time, enough so his cock was exposed.

Dave kissed him, kind of a lot more sloppy and drooly than he meant to, and brought their cocks together in his hand.

"God you are so f… damn good with your hands, I always felt so guilty but when you were kneading dough or hand whisking all I could think about was…" Jim groaned noisily into Dave’s ear, and Dave worked them even harder, Jim slipping his bigger hand over Dave’s for a little help. “That’s it Dave, good boy, good boy, keep going," he panted.

Dave came pretty quickly after that, with a shout and his face buried in Jim’s neck. He flopped back against the sofa with his eyes shut, hand slowing to a stop.

He felt a hand on his face, “You’re just the most perfect looking thing," and felt this fresh wave of heat run through him. His chest wibbled and no one had ever called Dave perfect before and even steeped in post-orgasmic-who-gives-a-shit he actually totally gave a shit. 

Dave’s eyes flickered open, and Jim was kneeling above him, dick aimed squarely at Dave’s chest as he jerked himself off. 

He watched Jim’s face, watched his eyes flicker shut and his jaw clench. He groaned and threw his head back, and over his shoulder Dave saw John standing in the doorway, making a face like someone had just curb stomped a puppy. But that didn’t matter, because now Jim was mumbling his name and running his free hand over his chest, tweaking his nipple and actually it did matter why was John in the door way, when did John even get home wasn’t John supposed to be at the fucking movies or something what the fuck.

Dave gave a loud “Um." and John made a kind of strangled half screech, and then Jim’s eyes flew open and he turned around, and he did the same screechy noise and in that moment Dave could really see the family resemblance between the two of them how sweet was that.

With what sounded like a “No no no no no no no no no" John slammed the door, and Dave heard him rocket up the stairs like five seconds later, apparently screaming.

Above him, Jim had… Wilted, considerably, and was making the kind of face Dave imagined he’d make during one of those carrot peeler blow jobs from 1987.


End file.
